


the message, if we hear it

by snoopypez



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Holidays, Light Angst, M/M, boys being nerds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 10:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13052235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snoopypez/pseuds/snoopypez
Summary: make it last all year.





	the message, if we hear it

 

**_Christmas,_ ** _age 6_

“Santa’s gonna bring me a puppy!” Scott’s vibrating with excitement so much that he’s getting powdered sugar all over his front.

Stiles’s mouth drops open, revealing half-chewed bits of cookie dough. “Can he bring me one, too?” He aims round eyes at his mother, who smiles and shakes her head. 

“Maybe next year. Now come on, no more dough, _Mischief_. These are meant to be _baked_.”

“You can share mine,” Scott whispers loudly to Stiles.

Stiles gasps, like this is the most genius idea he’s ever heard. “Then when I get one you can share it and they can be best friends like us!”

They both grin and start rambling about playing with puppies as Stiles’s mom rolls out dough and smiles the way mothers do when they might know a secret. And even though she told them no more raw dough, she still lets them nibble on the leftover bits too small to be made into festive shapes. She talks about Hanukkah coming up, explaining what it’s about to Scott, while Stiles chimes in with his own special input--mostly concerning presents and candy.

“You’re so lucky; _I_ wanna do both, too.” Scott can’t imagine getting eight whole days of fun stuff _plus_ Christmas morning. 

“Well, maybe we can have you and your parents over this year,” Stiles’s mom offers, smiling when Scott and Stiles start to bounce around in their chairs again. It’s too bad Scott won’t have a puppy in time to celebrate with them; he’s told that Hanukkah is a couple days earlier than Christmas this year. He mentions his disappointment out loud, and Stiles nods solemnly in agreement.

Then somehow a mini-marshmallow gets lodged up his right nostril, and the kitchen’s filled with giggles again, even from Stiles’s mom. Scoldings don’t sound as serious when they’re surrounded by laughter.

 

**_Yom Kippur,_ ** _age 8_

“I’m sorry I ate your twinkie,” Stiles says as sincerely as he can manage while still having a smear of cream under his lips.

Scott is frowning at him, so apparently his sincerity wasn’t very convincing. But to be fair, this is really Stiles’s first try. He’s trying to work up to the _for-real_ honesty once the sun sets; he’s just _also_ trying to eat as much junk food as he can get away with before the fast.

“I need ice cream,” he whines. Scott’s frown deepens, but Stiles presses on. “I _toooold_ you I’m giving up ice cream for stupid Yom Kippur so I need to eat it all now!”

“I thought that was just for a day,” Scott says, but Stiles is not here for his best friend’s reasonable attitude.

“What if you had to give up…” Stiles glances at his best friend’s plate. “Um. Chocolate milk! What if you had to give that up for a day?”

As expected, Scott’s mouth drops open in horror. Stiles nods. _Exactly_.

There’s a loud yell in the corner of the cafeteria, and both Stiles and Scott make the mistake of looking over, because _naturally_ , that’s right when Jackson Whittemore walks by with two friends. So Stiles seizes the opportunity to call out, “hey, _Jerk_ son, sorry I called you Jerkson. Also sorry I kicked your backpack over yesterday. I guess.”

Jackson shoves Stiles as he passes, and Stiles grins at Scott’s concern. “What? I apologized!”

For the rest of the school day, he apologizes to most everyone he comes across, with varying degrees of truthfulness. Telling Mrs. Mirkel he’s sorry for not erasing the blackboard clean enough is barely true, because who cares about something so dumb? He’s a little more genuine about his remorse over accidentally scratching someone with the pencil he was fiddling with, but that’s about it. 

He knows that there’s more to Yom Kippur than apologizing for things he doesn’t even think are worth being sorry for. He understands that he’s supposed to be sacrificing and helping his mother get things ready, but… Stiles is _really_ not patient or old enough for those parts of the holiday. Not yet.

So this is how it goes. Until after school, when he and Scott are being dropped off on their street; Scott waves and tells him not to think too much about ice cream. Stiles grabs his shirt sleeve.

“Wait. Um. I’m really sorry I told you to leave me alone last week and I ripped your Superman comic and forgot your homework when you left it in my room and I called your dad a jerk.” He takes a breath, then adds, “ _and_ ate your twinkie.”

This time he means it, because if anyone deserves an honest, earnest apology, it’s Scott.

Scott smiles, gives Stiles a quick hug, and says, “I forgive you!” 

And finally, Stiles feels lighter.

 

**_New Year’s Eve,_ ** _age 10_

Stiles goes to Scott’s house for New Year’s Eve. His mother’s been gone only a short time, and his dad’s working, so _Scott’s_ mom takes the night off. She and Scott plan to make it the easiest and most fun holiday for Stiles in hopes of distracting him, and he can probably see right through it but he doesn’t say a word. 

There are plenty of treats set out, from crackers and chips to cookies and candy. Melissa enlists their help in baking even more cookies, plus cupcakes, and she gives them her special hot chocolate on top of it all. They decorate everything with miles of frosting, Stiles attempting to draw Pokemon on a few. She’s honestly tempting fate by fueling the oncoming sugar crashes of two ten year olds, but it’s worth it, just this once. 

She lets them watch movies and cartoons, play a few video games, even lets them bundle up and run around the backyard for a short time to let out some of their seemingly endless energy. When it’s finally late enough to turn on the New Year’s special; Melissa hands them caramel popcorn and yet more hot cocoa to go with it.

She’s absolutely resigned herself to dealing with them well past midnight, so she goes off to do the dishes and clean things up. Maybe she’ll have them race laps around the house to _really_ tire them out.

As it turns out, her nefarious plans are unnecessary because it’s not even eleven o’clock yet when she walks back into the living room and finds Scott and Stiles fast asleep. They’re sprawled across the couch, arms hanging over the edge, Stiles’s face shoved into the back of Scott’s knee. It’s adorable, and Melissa smiles so _fondly_ , hoping they managed to give Stiles a good start to the year--one without tears and rage over a lost parent. 

She drapes a blanket over each of them, kisses their foreheads. The television stays on, but turned low, and she watches the ball drop, a glass of wine in her hand.

 

**_Halloween,_ ** _age 12_

The closer it gets to Halloween, the more Stiles regrets insisting weeks ago that he and Scott are too old for trick-or-treating. His stance seemed logical at first: maybe someone would be having a party, one too _cool_ for baby things like costumes. Or maybe he and Scott could go to one of the haunted attractions in the next town over! Those probably don’t even _allow_ costumes except on employees.

It seemed to make sense. And after a few sad faces, Scott had agreed. 

But now Halloween is in like, four days and they still don’t have any plans. No one invited them to any parties, and both their parents are working so there’s no way for them to leave Beacon Hills (unless they hitchhiked, which Scott flatly refuses to do). Ugh. 

“I guess we can just watch scary movies and hand out candy…” Scott suggests from where he’s sprawled out on Stiles’s bedroom floor. 

“That’s so lame!” is Stiles’s reply, as it has been to all of their ideas. Not that they’ve had many. He just really wanted their first _grown-up Halloween_ to be better than this. To make things worse, he’s had some pretty great ideas for costumes recently, but he can’t _cave_ after the fuss he made! 

“Y’know, I think I heard Lydia talking about her costume today,” Scott says after some silence. Stiles would be suspicious of his casual tone if he wasn’t now thinking of Lydia in any costume at all. She’s so pretty.

She’s also extremely popular, and their age. If _she_ can wear a costume… “Is she having a party?” he asks, knowing full-well that he would’ve heard about such a thing before now.

“Nope. I think she’s trick-or-treating.”

Stiles is _pretty sure_ he’s being played, but how can he possibly hold out against this news? His own casual tone is less subtle, as is the way he barely hesitates. “Well, I mean...if _Lydia Martin’s_ doing it, maybe we aren’t...too old yet. There’s always next year for parties and stuff, right?”

Scott sits up, grinning. “My thoughts exactly!”

So four days later, they head out--in _awesome_ costumes, thank you very much--to bum candy from their neighbors. They don’t come across Lydia even once, and part of Stiles thinks Scott made the whole thing up just to get them out here, but Rolos and Twix and sticky, sticky Dots make it worth it.

 

_**Hanukkah,** age 14_

It’s been five years. 

Five years since Scott went to the Stilinski house and was so patiently reminded how to participate in the festivities. He remembers playing with the dreidel, annoying Stiles with how many chocolate coins he won; apparently his _beginner’s luck_ held out no matter how many times they played. 

He remembers trying all of the food again even if he hadn’t liked some of it in years before, because he knew it was polite to do so, and he definitely remembers how lovely the lighting of the menorah was, even though he didn’t understand most of the _meaning_ behind it.

But he also remembers how Mrs Stilinski was too sick to do most of the cooking. She was too tired to do much singing. She yelled at them for arguing too loudly over who got the last coin. But at the end of the night, she’d relaxed enough to hug Scott goodbye and thank him for coming.

And now, five years later, Stiles is standing at Scott’s doorstep in an ugly Hanukkah sweater. Scott’s left blinking about a hundred times, expression otherwise blank, until Stiles shoulders his way into the house and announces, in greeting, “I’m taking it back.”

“...Okay? Taking _what_ back?” Scott tries to remember if he borrowed anything from his friend recently.

Stiles does not look impressed with Scott’s inability to mind-read. “Hanukkah! I’m reclaiming it.”

That explains the sweater. “I’m pretty sure that’s not the right way to say that. But, uh, okay! Cool! Sounds fun.”

He doesn’t mention Stiles’s mother at all. They just sort of pretend this has nothing to do with her, and that this is something Stiles thought up on a whim, for no reason other than feeling the spirit or whatever. That’s a theme that carries on through the night, from Stiles dragging him upstairs to throw on festively colored clothes, to dragging him back downstairs and outside and to the Stilinski house. The sheriff seems to be feeling the same way; his cheer’s a little forced, but he seems just as determined to keep the evening light for his son, if nothing else.

But of course, nothing is as it’s been in the past, from the food to the menorah to the empty seat at the table. They all do their best, and Scott is there to offer as much help and subtle comfort as he can--and after dinner, he pulls out a familiar dreidel. Things have started to feel a lot more normal by the time Stiles accuses Scott of cheating.

 

**_Easter,_ ** _age 16_

“This is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had.”

“Could you shut up and maybe help me a little?”

Scott is really not on board with this whole situation, especially since he’s the one stuck on the ground with Stiles’s foot in his face. He should’ve insisted on climbing the fence first, then just pulling Stiles over, but nooo. 

Sooner or later, they both end up over the fence, and Stiles has his hands on his hips. “Can you seriously not smell it?”

“What, a giant rabbit--?”

“A jackalope! If _werewolves_ are real, everything else must be, too, and what _else_ could explain a giant-ass rabbit leaving eggs all over the place??”

It’s nothing Scott hasn’t already heard ten times over the last couple days. He heaves a mighty sigh. He opens his mouth to attempt reason, but Stiles interrupts. Again.

“Don’t say it’s just parents doing the whole Easter egg hunt thing, ‘cause no one _lives in the woods_ with their _human_ children, Scott.”

“Okay! Fine, it’s kinda weird to have...pastel eggs showing up out of nowhere.” Also weird is just saying that sentence out loud. “But I still don’t smell a jackalope or anything else.”

Granted, he’s still pretty new to this whole super-sniffer thing, but he’s pretty sure he’d have picked up on a scent that stood out enough to belong to a freakin’ mythical creature. He’s getting kind of good at noticing other werewolves, for one thing. He honestly thinks this whole thing could be completely mundane and Stiles is just being paranoid. Not that he’s about to suggest _that_ , considering how it went over the last time.

Stiles refuses to give up, and they continue creeping through yards near the woods like delinquents--until the inevitable happens: Scott trips over a water hose, Stiles tramples over an egg that clearly _was_ hidden by a parent, and Sheriff Stilinski is called to come collect them. The scolding is expected, but the way Stiles jumps in to insist that he dragged Scott along is a little less so. It’s mostly _true_ , of course, but it’s still nice, and Scott proclaims, “he’s lying; I totally wanted to come!”

So then they have a whispered argument about _that_ , and finally Stiles’s father demands they shut up and get in the car. His eye-roll is practically audible. 

They manage to be quiet for most of the drive home, until Stiles starts hitting Scott’s arm and pointing out the window at a fluffy tail disappearing into the bushes. Scott’s laughter earns more than one glare.

 

**_Fourth of July,_ ** _age 18_

There isn’t much time left. Soon, Stiles will leave for Washington DC, far away from Beacon Hills and _Scott_ for months--the longest he’s ever been separated from his best friend, his father, his _house_ , all of it.

Needless to say, neither of them have been very cheerful recently. 

Stiles wants to fix that. Well, actually he kind of wants to wallow, but he also wants to make Scott smile. Since those two things are sadly at odds, and since he’s trying to be less selfish, he goes with the latter.

“Come on, we’re getting drunk and watching fireworks.”

“Dude. I can’t _get_ drunk.”

“Okay, then I’m getting drunk and you can make sure I don’t fall off a cliff.” Stiles is not accepting any argument, and it’s really not that difficult to herd Scott into the jeep, either. “Unless you wanna get some fireworks and set ‘em off ourselves? We can do that, too.”

Scott gives a vaguely horrified look. “While you’re getting drunk? No. No thanks; I think you should try to _keep_ both your hands.”

“Good point. Definitely need to keep both hands,” Stiles says, and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. It earns a soft laugh from his friend, so mission accomplished. 

Still, Scott tries a few times to convince Stiles that they should do something more responsible and mentor-y for Liam and Mason and blah blah _blah_ \--Stiles ignores it all. He just drives to the highest spot in Beacon Hills, swearing that they’ll be able to see the fireworks show _so_ well, and there’s a bottle of Jack his dad will never notice gone, and also-- 

“Even got you some of that weird, spicy popcorn! See, this’ll be great. Stop moping.”

Normally, Stiles would be right there moping with him. The fact that he’s not may even be confusing Scott a little, but neither of them address it. Perhaps on some level they both know exactly why the tone of the night is as it is.

They end up sitting on the hood of the Jeep, so much like the last September, but this time Stiles is up there, too. This time they’re so aware of how those earlier plans fell through, and Stiles forces smiles and cheer; the alcohol he brought helps turn those more genuine. Scott chomps on popcorn, his own mood lightening with the sky. 

Stiles almost thinks he’s imagining it when Scott’s pinky finger curves over his. A single glance shows that it’s actually happening, and even though that’s _all_ that happens, it’s _enough_.

 

**_Valentines Day,_ ** _age 20_

Stiles lasted a year in DC, and as much as Scott wanted to insist he stick it out, there had been no hiding how relieved he was to have his best friend back. And it’s not like Stiles dropped everything--he’s still in the law enforcement program. It’s just a lot closer, and both of them have been much happier.

At least, until recently. Scott knows it’s incredibly selfish and kind of awful, but it’s been over a year now since Stiles moved back and the happier he seems _with other people_ , the grumpier Scott gets. It’s dumb; it’s not like Stiles came back _solely_ for Scott’s benefit. He’s allowed to have friends and even...date some of them. 

It’s just. Scott never actually forgot about the strange moment between them a couple years earlier. Nothing happened at the time because they were about to be separated for who-knew-how-long; but then Stiles came back and they still never actually talked about it. And now it’s been so long that it’s probably too late.

Scratch that ‘probably’. Stiles has been on a few dates with some perfectly nice girl named Maggie, so Scott _needs_ to get over this. 

He decides to get over it a couple of days later by making some new friends for himself. He’s standing in the hall of his dorm, laughing with someone named Lauren, when Stiles comes stomping over. “Yeah, hi, borrowing him for a minute, come on, Scotty.”

Scott manages to say goodbye before getting pulled into his room. 

“Okay, what the hell are you doing?” Oh, there are the hands-on-hips.

“Uh...talking to a friend?” With the tiniest bit of spite, Scott adds, “maybe gonna ask them out.”

Stiles recoils, which is just bordering on melodramatic at this point. “Are you serious? You’re gonna ask someone out on _Valentines Day_?”

Honestly, Scott completely forgot the date, what with having zero reason to remember it. It doesn’t matter anyway, because as he says, “we’re adults, Stiles. I doubt they’re gonna start planning the wedding because of the calendar date. Besides, what about you and Maggie? Is that not serious enough for the stupid day?”

“...Uh. Scott? Maggie’s gay. Why would I be dating her when I--”

And suddenly Scott’s picking up on the blip in Stiles’s heartbeat, the way his scent goes the slightest bit sour. The way Stiles cuts himself off and looks away is kind of suspicious, too. Quieter now, Scott asks, “when you what? I mean, my obliviousness aside, is it like...the same reason _I_ haven’t been dating either?”

The way Stiles’s heart starts to race seems to imply that Scott’s guess is right.

They finally talk about the fourth of July. This time, the touch of their hands leads to the touch of their mouths. 

 

**_Christmas,_ ** _age 22_

Oddly, Stiles gets the idea when they’re nowhere near any animals of any kind. They’re just sitting on their couch, and Scott’s reading a book, his feet in Stiles’s lap. But that’s when Stiles thinks of it, as he’s noticing Scott’s content expression and relaxed demeanor.

He is _totally_ getting Scott a puppy for Christmas.

*

As it turns out, all of his law enforcement training and classes don’t pay very well, so Stiles needs a job. At least a temporary one, so he’ll have enough money to get the puppy before the end of December. Somehow, he ends up at the mall, lowering himself to the time-honored tradition of...being an elf. 

Slightly weirder is that Scott is also there. They stare at each other for a good moment, then Stiles says, “I need money.”

“Yeah, I need a little extra, too.” Scott hasn’t been working as much lately, also thanks to important career-related training, so it makes sense. Of course, the fact that he hadn’t told Stiles about _this_ is a little weird, but it’s not like that can be mentioned without having his hypocrisy pointed right back at him.

As luck--or fate, or possibly a sick joke--would have it, Stiles gets the elf job, and Scott ends up as Santa Claus. There’s only a little grumbling about being Robin, but mostly it makes perfect sense. Who else is as friendly and genuine a person as Scott McCall?

He’s great with all the children. His voice isn’t exactly the most Santaian, but no one cares about that when he’s constantly making tiny children laugh and smile. There are also only two separate occasions where Stiles almost gets fired for basically threatening some kids who seem like they’re going to be little assholes to Scott, so all in all, it’s going well!

*

Eventually, they come clean--they both took the job to have money for each other’s presents. It’s amusing, and they pinky-swear not to give away what the gifts are, though Stiles can’t resist giving a hint. Somewhat dramatically, he squares his shoulders, stiffly jabs both arms downward, and juts his chin out. 

“...Did you just have some kind of spasm?” Scott seems legitimately concerned by this, and Stiles scowls.

“That was your hint! _Ugh_ , it’ll make sense later, shut up. Where’s _my_ hint?”

“I never said I was giving any!”

Stiles gives such an offended look, proclaiming betrayal and insult until Scott laughs and drops kisses all over his face. It’s a good distraction technique. 

*

Never one for following rules, even his own, Stiles keeps trying to hint at what he’s getting Scott. Either he’s not very good at it, or Scott just sucks at guessing, because it never comes out. Which is good, really. He really wants to see the surprise on his boyfriend’s face Christmas morning.

He hands candy canes to so many kids, getting in a few arguments with some of them and sincerely agreeing when others mention how much they love Santa Scott. They don’t realize Scott can hear everything they say, of course, though maybe that’s an ability Santa would share; they just see him beaming back at them and waving, having made their day a little more magical.

*

Stiles has picked out a baby bulldog, hence the ridiculous imitation-hint he attempted so much earlier. He thinks it’s one of those French ones, but whatever _exact_ breed it is, it’s adorable and squirmy, and he has no idea how he’s going to sneak it into their tiny apartment without Scott knowing. He’s not too worried about it--he leaves the small girl puppy with a friend in the same building over Christmas Eve, and all of its accessories and food and things are wrapped and put under the table their minuscule plastic tree sits on. 

When morning comes, Stiles practically throws all the gifts in Scott’s lap and watches his expression change with each unwrapping. Without any actual warning, Stiles darts out of the apartment and down the hall to gather the puppy, returning with her wiggly little body in his arms, and Scott looks _stunned_ even though the other gifts probably gave it away.

He reaches out for her, holds her reverently even as she licks his chin. 

“Do you like her?” Stiles asks unnecessarily. “The first Christmas we spent together, you got Roxy, and...I dunno, you deserve all the puppies in the world and we’re in a pretty good place now so I thought…”

“Stiles. I love her. I love _you_.” Scott is so serious about this, leaning in to brush a kiss to Stiles’s mouth, rolling his eyes when Stiles points out that there’s dog drool on his chin so maybe wipe it off first. “You better get _used_ to dog drool, man.”

Then the puppy gets set on Scott’s lap so his hands are free to hand Stiles a box. It's not huge, but it's a nice size, and Stiles is eager to see what _Scott_ was needing extra money for. That excitement does not go hidden as he tears it open it to find--a smaller box. He’d complain about that, except the size seems very...jewelry-shaped. 

“No way…” It’s probably not the best thing to say when receiving what is obviously an engagement ring.

Scott laughs, but there's a tinge of nervousness to it, and says, “I mean, if you really don’t want to…”

Stiles looks up sharply and practically snaps, “you can’t take it back! Scott, Scotty, you don’t--oh my god. I’ve wanted to for like, four _years_ now. Yes. _Yes_.”

Dog drool or no dog drool, he definitely doesn’t care either way. As he kisses Scott, thorough and far more emotionally than he let himself _sound_ , there’s a rustling below them. He really doesn’t want to break away, but he does, and both of them glance downwards in unison to see the puppy chewing on paper, halfway into the larger box as it rests on its side. 

“Y’know,” Scott says, voice low, “I think I’m gonna name her Mischief.”

Stiles groans and immediately bites Scott’s ear.


End file.
